


Down the Whole Carafe

by AnEnormousPileofTribbles



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Omorashi, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26873659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnEnormousPileofTribbles/pseuds/AnEnormousPileofTribbles
Summary: Why the fuck isn’t there a bathroom in the lab? Did it throw off the creepy triangular feng shui or something?Stan drinks way too much coffee one night and suffers... fairly predictable results with a bit of a personal discovery.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Down the Whole Carafe

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I was possessed by the spirit of kink I guess. I dunno, I just wanted to write about my favorite old man pissing his ever-present boxers and getting off on it. Seriously, if you don't like pee or pee desperation why are you here?
> 
> This is my first foray into writing Omo. Be nice please?

Stan takes a big ol’ pot of coffee down to the basement, swigging straight out of the carafe because who the fuck cares, certainly not him. Less dishes for the morning anyway.

He’s swigging coffee and trying to figure out equations and suddenly it’s been hours. He stretches out to pop his joints and that’s when the urge hits him. The shift in gravity twinges his bladder just right that he leaks just a little right there and _freezes_ before bolting for the stairs. The elevator is too slow so he just runs as fast as he can, pausing every now and then to clamp a hand hard around his dick as he feels the urge well up. By the time he’s reached the top of the stairs he’s cussing a blue streak and there’s a noticeable damp spot on the front of his boxers.

 _Why the fuck isn’t there a bathroom in the lab,_ thought Stan, not for the first time, as he clamps his legs together and pushes his way through the secret door and out into the house proper. _Did it throw of_ _f_ _the creepy triangular feng shui or something?_ He bites down on a whimper as he feels his bladder cramp and starts shuffling down the hall towards the bathroom.

He makes it to the door and manages to kick it open... but then he sees the toilet and it’s like the dam burst. He grips himself hard with a choked off sob but it’s too late. A hot stream hisses through his fingers as he hobbles one step towards the toilet and then he just reaches out blindly and grips the countertop for support as the pressure releases. He feels his knees try to buckle under him and hears a quiet moan fall from his lips and he’s suddenly glad he’s all alone in his big house.

There’s no witnesses to him vulnerable and gasping helplessly as warmth runs down his legs and pools in his socks. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes with equal amounts embarrassment and relief and he feels himself shaking with the force of his release.

It takes an eternity for the flow to stop and for him to come back to his senses but he scrubs his dry hand across his burning face and through his graying hair and feels his face heat more as he hears his own piss drip to the floor from the soaked edges of his boxers. He’s still got one hand wrapped around himself, boxers beyond damp and sticking to his fingers as he pulls his hand away. He shifts from one foot to the other and winces as he hears the wet material squish against the floor, then bites his lip with a cut off moan as his bladder constricts one last time and the feeble trickle wells up through his soaked fly.

“Ugh, gross,” he mutters to himself, angrily shoving the ruined garment down his legs and toeing his socks off. He leaves them in the puddle on the floor, dropping his shirt on top to help with scooping the whole mess up later. He climbs into the shower, trying to ignore the way his damp skin is rapidly cooling in the open air, and cranks the temperature up until it is nearly scalding. After scrubbing himself off he stands gasping under the spray, letting the warmth wash over him and…

“Moses, really?” he groans, exasperated, as his dick twitches to half-mast. The shock of wetting himself is starting to wear off and the crawling creep of shame and the remembered feeling of how desperately he’d clutched himself even as sweet relief washed over him is starting to take it’s place. He snorts humorlessly at himself. “Figures I’d be into something weird like this.”

Bracing his forehead against one arm he closes his eyes and wraps his other hand around his dick, heat rising in his cheeks as he thinks back to the first rush of need down in the basement. He twitches in his own palm and he groans in equal parts arousal and exasperation. “Fuck, alright. Ok. I’m doing this then. Can’t sink much lower I guess.”

The movements are the same as always: a tug and a twist with his thumb grazing over the glans as he cants his hips forward into the slide of his own palm. But his thoughts wander into new territory. Instead of the almost routine mental image of a partner’s smooth skin and the way their hips fit into his palms as he takes them apart, he thinks of the way his own legs had trembled as he fled up the stairs, the clench in his belly as he tried to prevent the inevitable mess, the cool wave of relief as his bladder emptied, contents spattering on the tile below. He thinks of the hot rush of shame afterward, boiling upward from his gut and flushing his cheeks, tears springing to his eyes and he cums harder than he has in months, head tilting back with a strangled cry.

Stan collapses against the wall of the shower, panting hard. He leans there for a few long moments, processing what just happened before finally rubbing the tears out of his eyes and reaching out to shut the water off.

“You’ve got weirder things to worry about, Stanley,” he mutters to himself as he dumps his soiled clothes in the washer and mops the bathroom floor. “Not much weirder than figuring out you like to pee in your old age, but whats one more kink?”

He chuckles into the empty air before shutting off the lights and going to bed.

The next time he descends into the basement with a full carafe of coffee clutched in one hand, he’s got a bag of towels and fresh dry clothes hanging from the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a review or don't... This fic literally just... happened. I hope it's good?


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